


he spends the afternoon between your thighs (how's that for gratitude?)

by hamiltrashed



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Daryl is an Uber driver, Drunk Rick, First Meetings, Hangover, M/M, New Year's Day, Rick is his piss drunk passenger, Rimming, Uber, We might call having Daryl in his bed Rick's New Year's resolution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 07:35:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5618890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamiltrashed/pseuds/hamiltrashed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Uber driver Daryl picks up a very drunk Rick from a bar in the wee hours of the morning on New Year's Day. Rick passes out and wakes up to find Daryl in his bed -- only he can't remember who Daryl is or how he got there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	he spends the afternoon between your thighs (how's that for gratitude?)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skarlatha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skarlatha/gifts).



> Bless my darling beta Michelle_A_Emerlind for always being willing to read my stuff and help make it better, and bless Skarlatha for reading it early and telling me she dug it (and for waiting while I worked to finish this).

When Rick drops into the passenger seat of the Uber car he requested (after a good ten minutes of fumbling with the app on his phone and several dozen curse words), he’s drunk enough to barely remember his own name, but certainly _not_ drunk enough to forget to thank his lucky stars for the startlingly stunning man behind the wheel. He hasn’t set foot in a church in years, but he gets one good look and starts praying for this body to fill the open space in his bed. 

“Hey,” says the gorgeous creature, and his voice is as rough in Rick’s ears as the whiskey burning up the back of his throat. “You’re my last one this late, lucky you. Happy New Year, man. Where you goin’?”

“You’re perfect,” Rick slurs in reply. 

The guy studies him for a moment, and the corner of his mouth turns up in a wry smile. “Not familiar with that address, you wanna try again?”

“I’d fuck you,” Rick blurts out, and if the alcohol hadn’t made his mouth drier than the Sahara, then it’d sure as hell be watering right about now. 

The man (and Rick thinks the name on the Uber app was Derek or Daniel or... Daryl -- that’s it, Daryl) looks at him, raises an eyebrow, and says, “Look, it’s been a long day and now it’s 2AM and nothing good happens after 2AM. Hot as you are, I don’t fuck strangers and ain’t a snowball’s chance in the devil’s front yard that you’re gonna get it up anyway with that much booze in you. Now, you gonna gimme your address or do I gotta guess?”

Rick’s not quite sure, but he thinks his face may be morphing into a pout. Somewhere in the haze of half a paycheck’s worth of booze, something tells him it’s illogical to be disappointed that hitting on his Uber driver didn’t work, because who the hell even _does_ that? But something else (and it’s definitely maybe the alcohol) says that a man that looks like Daryl doesn’t come along every day, and if he can’t fuck him, well, he’s at least gotta make damn sure that Daryl knows he looks better than a tall glass of sweet tea on the hottest summer day to him right now.

Of course, there’s also the small problem that Rick can’t even bring his own address to mind, so he digs his phone out of his pocket, taps the emergency info button, and shows the screen with his address on it to Daryl. “Think I know where that is. Just in case, though.” He punches the information into the app’s GPS on his own phone. Once they’re on their way, he glances at Rick out of the corner of his eye. “You gonna behave now?”

Rick grins at him and mumbles sleepily, “Mmm, behave when you look like you do? No promises.”

Daryl shakes his head, and it’s clear he’s just accepting now that Rick is too drunk to shut his mouth. “It’s Rick, right?” He meets Rick’s eyes for a second, then looks away. 

“Rick Grimes,” he answers, the words running together so that it’s barely comprehensible, even to his own ears. “Don’t tell anybody that though, ‘cause I’m a cop. Doesn’t look good to be this drunk as a cop, y’know what I mean, Daniel?”

“Probably not,” Daryl agrees. “And it’s Daryl. Anyway, it’s a little late for that now. You got a reason to be out drinkin’ so much or you just havin’ fun?”

“I got promoted. I was celebrating,” Rick says. His head lolls back against the seat and he yawns. “M’Sergeant Grimes now.”

“So definitely not gonna look good,” Daryl says with a laugh. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me, Sergeant.”

“Thanks, Darren.”

“Daryl,” Daryl corrects again, and he looks over at Rick, rolling his eyes and sighing with exasperation. Rick would bet he’s not the first drunk idiot his driver has dealt with in the past few hours, but at least he gets to be the last. Maybe he’ll make an impression.

“Daryl,” Rick repeats. “Sure. Wake me when we get there, Daryl.” ...Okay, so it won’t be a _good_ impression. But an impression nonetheless.

“Rick, we’re not that far away --”

“Don’t be afraid to ask for a tip,” Rick says, attempting a wink. “The pickup lines might not be workin’ for you but my mouth works in other ways.”

And the last thing Rick hears before he passes out is, “Rick, don’t --”

And then he’s gone.

#

Rick wakes up at noon on New Year’s Day with a headache half the size of the whole state of Georgia and his face fixed in what he’s sure is his best first class scowl. He’s just about to get up and make his way to the bathroom, even if the idea of being upright is wildly unappealing, when he turns over and finds an unfamiliar face looking back at him, barely a foot away, all amused smirk and just a hint of a glare.

It’s a nice face, Rick will admit; more than nice, in fact, it’s fucking flawless. Blue eyes and stubble and dark hair that looks like the guy couldn’t decide if he wanted to grow it out or hack it off, so he stopped somewhere in between. Rick wants to pat himself on the back for landing a guy this damn nice to look at, but that’s a little hard to do when he has no idea where he found him or even what his name is. 

So he tries for a smile instead, wincing at the pain in his head and sheepishly mumbling, “Um… you are…?”

And in lieu of a name, the guy simply replies, “Your Uber driver.”

“Oh. Of course,” Rick says, as if this was the expected answer. “And um. Is this a service you usually provide? Because I’ve used Uber a lot and I can’t say I’ve, er. Ever woken up next to my driver before.”

“You don’t remember?” the man asks. He doesn’t seem pissed; rather, the entire thing seems extraordinarily funny to him. “Let me fill you in, _Sergeant_ Rick Grimes of the Atlanta PD. When you got in my car early this morning smelling a hell of a lot like you been sleepin’ at the bottom of a Jim Beam bottle for two weeks, you told me you wanted to fuck me.”

Rick’s eyes widen and his whole body flushes with warmth and he’s not sure if that’s the feverish feeling of the hangover or his embarrassment or both. “So… we had sex?”

The guy gives him a look that plainly expresses his thoughts about Rick’s stupidity. “I ain’t into taken advantage of people so no, we did not have sex. ‘Course, that didn’t stop you from waking up when we got here after passin’ out in my car and tellin’ me you wanted to -- forgive me if I don’t get it right -- 'bend me over and take me six ways from Sunday.' When we got here you could barely stand so I helped you inside where I definitely planned to leave, but then you begged me to stay and gave me them big blue puppy eyes and, glassed over as they were… well, I’m a sucker for that kinda shit, I guess, even from a stranger. So here I am. Also, I borrowed your shower. Hope you don’t mind.”

Rick groans and rolls onto his back, pressing his hands over his face. “Fuck.”

And the guy smiles at him, a devilish, cheeky thing that turns the hard lines of his cheekbones into a playful grin. “Well, I ain’t opposed to the idea _now_ if you wanna,” he says. “Did say you were gonna tip me, after all, and I’m gonna go out on a limb and say I deserve a real big tip. A great big goddamn _thank you_ , we’ll say.”

Rick pulls his hands away and turns to look at him. “I can’t argue with that. You gonna tell me your name?”

“Sure,” the guy says. “You gonna get it right this time? You called me just about every name but mine this morning.”

“Never gonna forget it again,” Rick swears.

“It’s Daryl.”

“Daryl,” Rick says, and he likes the way the name sounds in his mouth. “Daryl, I can’t promise you a whole hell of a lot when I’m this hungover…but I _can_ promise you’re not gonna wanna leave after.”

“That so?”

“Mm,” Rick says, nodding. “If I concentrate real hard I can sorta hear your voice saying something about not fucking strangers. So let’s not be strangers.”

He crawls over toward Daryl, leans in and kisses him, nipping at his bottom lip. And sure, this whole fuckin’ thing is gonna be a thank you to Daryl for putting up with his shit, but this kiss is an expression of having the good grace to know that he’s an idiot and that, as far as first impressions go, he probably couldn’t have done worse. But Daryl kisses him back anyway, and Rick is positive he still tastes like too much alcohol, but Daryl doesn’t seem to mind at all. He makes a small sound of satisfaction against Rick’s lips and merely smiles when Rick pulls away and gives him a wink. 

Rick tugs the blankets down off a shirtless Daryl, finding him still in jeans. He does his best to try and get them off, all the while thinking that this is approximately the least sexy he’s ever been in his entire life. He doesn’t even wanna pause to look in the mirror first. If he looks the way he imagines he does, all unshaven and rumpled hair and dirty clothes, and Daryl still wants to fuck him... well, he’ll call that a win any day.

After a whole minute of struggling with Daryl’s belt, Daryl takes pity on him and gets his jeans open, down, and off so fast that Rick’s pretty sure it happens between one blink and the next. But he’s not about to complain because fucking _hell_ , Daryl is huge and half-hard already and Rick can’t remember a time when he’s been this excited to even be _alive_ the day after a hard night out. He goes to work immediately, gives Daryl his everything, and there’s a certain pleasure in the way his aching head swims when blood starts rushing southward. Rick’s not sure if it makes him weird that he gets off on getting other people off, but the sounds Daryl makes are causing his heart to race, his jeans to start feeling tight.

Daryl tangles his fingers into Rick’s hair and splits Rick’s name into two syllables, starting on a gasp and ending on a moan. The way he says it makes it sound like a prayer or a spell, and maybe it is, because Rick certainly feels caught by it. Daryl is heavy on his tongue, and Rick thinks he could do this forever, just swallowing Daryl down and licking back up the underside of his cock, flicking his tongue across the slit, tasting precome and wanting more. But doing this forever would be robbing Daryl of other certain skills, and Rick’s not about to be selfish, even if he thinks Daryl grabbing at his hair, thrusting his hips up and coming down his throat is quite possibly the hottest thing in the world.

He pulls off, leaves Daryl throbbing and wet, and nudges his legs apart further. He stretches out on the bed between them and starts kissing along the insides of Daryl’s thighs. Daryl gives a breathless laugh, just a little ‘ha!’ noise, and gasps out, “Tickles.” Rick grins and rubs his jaw along soft, previously unmarked skin. He’s caught between wanting to preserve pure perfection and leave Daryl with a reminder, because damn, that’s gonna sting later on. He presses kisses to red stubble burn, then pushes Daryl’s legs up so he can get where he really wants to be. 

There’s a half question on Daryl’s lips, a soft ‘Wh-,’ but it doesn’t take him long to comprehend. He catches on right about the time Rick drags his tongue down over his balls and starts working it inside him. “Holy _fuck_ , Rick!” Daryl’s breath catches in his throat and his voice goes hoarse on Rick’s name, and Rick’s not sure rimming some guy he barely knows is the time to contemplate whether he’s gonna get to heaven or not, but even if he doesn’t, this’d be a damn good substitute. 

Daryl’s heels dig into Rick’s back and he starts pushing back against him, as if he could ride Rick’s tongue just like this, and god, Rick wouldn’t have a problem if he wanted to. He pulls away, starts licking just around his entrance and Daryl gives a little growl of impatience. “So help me god, if you don’t put your tongue back in me, Rick --”

Rick cuts him off by giving him exactly what he wants, and he’s done this a fair few times before, but he’s never actually gone all out like he is right now, all lips and tongue and hands opening Daryl up for him like the best kind of present Rick could ever imagine. If he’d only celebrated his promotion like this instead of getting wasted… well, he wouldn’t have met Daryl, so he doesn’t think on it too hard. Still, he knows in the moment that Daryl starts tugging at his hair, rolling his hips and trying to get more of Rick’s tongue in him, that he’ll be keeping him around a damn long time. He can only imagine what’ll happen if he ever makes Lieutenant. 

Rick reaches one hand up and starts stroking Daryl’s cock, although with Daryl’s hips bucking desperately upward into his fist, it’s not like he has to do much work at all. 

“I’m fuckin’ -- so close, Rick, _fuck_ , please don’t stop --”

Rick doesn’t. He gives Daryl all he’s got, pressing his whole face against him, insistently curling his tongue inside him, and there’s fucking someone and kissing them and this is both, and god, it turns Rick on beyond anything -- making Daryl moan like this, listening to him grinding out Rick’s name repeatedly between his teeth, feeling him push back onto his tongue in desperation. Daryl is right on the edge; Rick can feel his legs tensing up against his back, his whole body going taut and strained, hands shaking in Rick’s curls, hips thrusting up into Rick’s hand. 

“Gonna come,” Daryl gasps. His voice is so wrecked and it’s music to Rick’s ears, and he comes all over Rick’s hand and wrist. Rick doesn’t let up until Daryl is squirming away, breathless and laughing, muttering, “Okay, okay, I can’t -- _fuck_ , can’t take much more of that.”

Rick lifts his head to look at Daryl and grins broadly. “For now or at all?”

“You kiddin’ me? Know I just met you and all and you didn’t even know my name a half hour ago, but…” He gestures weakly in Rick’s direction. “That mouth you got could end wars.”

Rick laughs, cleaning his hand off on a blanket that needs washing anyway and flopping down onto his back next to Daryl. “Decent tip?” he asks.

Daryl nods. “Best I ever had. Thinkin’ about givin’ you one back.”

“A tip?” Rick asks. He turns his head to glance at Daryl. “For what?”

“Well,” Daryl says, and he moves closer to Rick, slides a hand up between his thighs, pressing against the bulge in Rick’s jeans. Rick whimpers when Daryl climbs on top of him, still rubbing roughly through the denim. “Sergeant Grimes… you did say that you just got promoted. Means you been keepin’ my ass safe for years and I didn’t even know it. And with what you just did… we could call this law enforcement appreciation, couldn’t we? Donation for those, uh… _policeman’s balls_ y’all have.”

“The Atlanta PD _greatly_ appreciates your generosity,” Rick says, pushing up against Daryl’s palm eagerly, only now just noticing that his headache has all but disappeared. Of all the people he could’ve brought home (or ended up with by some strange providence, as it were, because ‘brought home’ might be stretching it), his Uber driver is the last person he’d expect. But even if he’s not about to plan an entire year in advance, if Daryl sticks around long enough… Rick might just make this a tradition.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Placebo's song "Lady of the Flowers."


End file.
